


crushed

by bluewind



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Deaf Wendla, Gen, Modern Era, Wendla-centric, mentions of underage sex/rape, slut shaming ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewind/pseuds/bluewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now try to make it look new again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	crushed

**Author's Note:**

> this started because of that one scene in Jane the Virgin and ran from there

"Are you alright, Wendla?" he'd asked her. She couldn't look at him again.

_Button your dress, child. Sit up straight, like this. Press your knees together, like a good girl Wendla. Like a good girl, Wendla._

He's talking now, she thinks, but she can't look. If he notices, he doesn't try to catch her attention. She stares ahead, only halfway feeling the rain as it drizzles down on them. It had stopped raining when they climbed down from the hay, stepped into the gloom outside. The rain may have stopped, but the sun was still gone - suffocating under the weight of the clouds, no matter how it tried to escape. Now, as they walk, the sun is still gone and the rain begins to drip.

Mama will be so upset to see her soaked. She always said Wendla was too childish, too reckless. And-- well, she couldn't say she wasn't _now,_ could she? The girl still finds it in her to be grateful for the rain, trying to wash her clean before she gets home. 

Melchior did offer her his coat, but she'd declined.

She feels too much of him on her.

She feels the weight of him on her chest, she feels his mouth on her breasts - only barely there to begin with, feels his breath on her neck and hands on her's. She feels the ache between her legs; wonders if it will ever go away, if it will always remind her of what she's done. 

_Your body is sacred, Wendla. You won't be one of those girls walking around, showing it off. It's only for your husband, Wendla._

He'd taken off her shirt. He'd kissed her and touched her; she let him. She _let_ him. 

Mama will be so upset.

His hand touches her's and she flinches, fingers jerk away as if he'll take the purity from them too. She doesn't stop him if that is what he wants. Their fingers lace together; warm, touching, they are real. When she looks to his face, he's smiling at her. So bright and intelligent, like he truly cares about her. She knows that he does, she feels the same. So she **tries** \- she really tries - to muster the same kind of smile. One that makes her look whole. 

He squeezes her hand, but they're in the open. It's not the hot, stuffy, suffocating, hidden corner of the world they'd been in before. Where they could debase each other's skin and no one would know. Surely, service is done by now. Anyone could see them here - together. So he lets go.

As numb as ever, she looks out again. She can see her house, the familiar home where she knows she'll have to face her mama; her wooden floors and green walls; her childhood bedroom. She'll have to lie in her bed, dirty; she'll lie to mama, dirty. _Dirty dirty dirty._

The rose bushes in the front are as perfect as ever, despite the water pelting down on them; despite the winter chill. Mama always tried so hard to make sure they stayed perfect. 

_"Hold this in your hand," she had said, placing the vibrant rose in her palm. She knew how they made Wendla smile, but all she felt now was discomfort. What they had been talking about, it made her feel unclean just to speak. "Now crumble it up."_

_Wendla knew the uncertainty must have shown on her face, but it's brief. She could never say no. She did as she was told, crushing the flower in her hands, feeling the petals fall apart under her fingers. Keeping her fist closed, she looked again at her mother. That couldn't have been all. It couldn't end there._

_"Now try to make it look new again."_

_Confused, again. Always confused, always uncertain. Still, the girl uncurls her fist to reveal the rose inside. She knew at a glance that it was irreparable. She picked at the petals, a feeble attempt at putting them back in place, smooth them out. At least make it look as beautiful as it once did. The best she could do was still nothing compared to what it once was; it still looked broken, crushed, dirty, used. She looked up to her mama, embarrassed, confused. Always confused._

_"That's what happens if you let a boy touch you, Wendla."_

They stop in front of her front door. She can tell in an instant he isn't sure whether or not to kiss her goodbye. She's sure he can't. Not again; not in front of her house; not when mama could be right behind the window, peeking through curtains. 

She isn't sure what to say. Looking at him now, as she's about to enter her home, the numbness is replaced with overwhelming love. And nausea. 

"Goodnight, Melchior." 

Before he can get a word out to her, she's shut the door on him. 


End file.
